


Dreams in color of the bat

by Silversonne



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: The Telltale Series (Video Game)
Genre: Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-05
Updated: 2021-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-18 22:40:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29865129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silversonne/pseuds/Silversonne
Summary: John would often wake up in tears, grabbing the stuffed Bruce under pillow (he made this toy by himself in the workshop), and his one and only thought was: when would he hear the familiar steps coming?This is the translation of my story.R-E Translator: ladyxenax
Relationships: John Doe/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 3
Kudos: 13





	Dreams in color of the bat

**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank the translator for this amazing job!  
> I will be happy if you like the story ^^

John would often wake up in tears, grabbing the stuffed Bruce under pillow (he made this toy by himself in the workshop — for his good behavior he was permitted to use a needle and stitching). He would hug it and lie in the darkness without making a sound, listening to whispers and hardly discernible moans behind the door. Remote sounds would sometimes turn to crashing noise and howling. At that time these sounds were inherent to the overwhelming hopeless silence of Arkham which absorbed everything — memories, dreams and life itself — like impassable quicksand. John would turn over to his side, facing the wall, and talk to the toy in his thoughts. He would ask the silence not to be so cruel and send him those familiar steps. But there were none, and John would feel anger, frantically cursing dead-hearted Bruce until he exhausted all the words and resentment. Until he remembered stabbing Bruce with a knife. He would not even have come to his senses yet, recovering in his huge mansion or at the hospital. That’s why it was so quiet outside: many sounds but none of them was familiar. At this point, John would calm down a little and close his eyes to lose himself in yet another Batman fantasy where he would imagine their conversation in his head again and again.

“You are not holding grudges against me, buddy, ain’t you? For… me giving you that scar. Anyway, I have nothing else to give to my best friend”. John was spinning a grinning batarang in his fingers, sneaking glances at Batman.

In his make-believe dream they would often meet in the abandoned docks, sometimes in the labyrinth where the supper-party took place. But there would never be any guests — only two of them, John and Bruce. For the first time in many weeks since his returning to Arkham, the location of the dream had changed: they were chasing a dangerous criminal down the city streets. As always, Batman was a half step ahead. Lights disappeared to give way for dark gateways stinking of rot and piss. Rain was pouring over the long street lines, and around the corner the road suddenly became dry. Stars scattered in the sky, wind after the heat, and cars looking like scary hungry dogs. And then they stopped in a dead alley to catch their breaths and look around. There was nothing else but closely joined apartment blocks and the bottomless sky.

“Batman, he’s climbing that sewer to get to the second floor...”

“I can see that”.

“You haven’t told me. You don’t bear any grudge against me, right? Well… for me doing that…”

Batman checked something on the armlet, said nothing and followed the criminal.

“OK… You took it too personally, then…" decided John. He stared at Batman climbing the pipe for a moment, and then, using the smileclaw, was one step ahead of him.

“Let me arrest him… please…”

Without waiting for reply, John opened the grilled window and slipped inside without making a sound. He looked around. Sudden sharp pain bit his eyes with the sizzling of some colorful powder. John started back and could have fallen out of the window if it had not been for Batman catching him. They jumped aside together, Batman covering him with his cloak.

The evening shades in the room turned into the pitch darkness of the night. In that darkness, John could hear Batman fighting with the thug who was cursing and trying to get to the bat. But soon the loud noise quieted down. Only the gurgling sniff of one opponent and the heave silence of the other were heard. 

He felt a soft touch on his face and then he was hidden under invisible winged shadow.

“John, look at me. Take your hands off. Let me see”. The voice was quiet and firm, the familiar voice. John could not help but obey it.

Not to be disturbed, Batman pressed John’s hands between his knees and felt his face, slowly pulling one lower lid, and then the other.

“What did he get me with? It burns…” His hands, pressed between were trembling.

John was overwhelmed with animal fear that was about to swallow his entire being. At first, he made Batman, his beloved Bruce, suffer in the maze, remembering his hurtful past; tortured him while driven by jealousy, grudge and despair; stabbed him with a knife. At least the latter should have turned Bruce against him but Bruce understood everything. He came back for him, rescued and took him on a mission. And now… Now he might never be able to see his handsome, reliable and calm face again. 

“Bruce… I’m sorry… s-sor-ry, Bats… Batman…”

“Stop getting in the way. I have to gather the substance to analyze it. The police are coming; I don’t want them to see you. Let’s go, we have to get out of here…”

“What about this guy, he knows everything…”

“I knocked him out. When he awakes, who would believe him there was somebody else with Batman?”

“You are so… clever… buddy…” John smiled and reached out for Batman with the tips of his fingers to Batman. “But how I am…”

“You will have to trust me. I will cover your eyes with a blindfold to protect them.” 

“Bruce, what is it all about? I trust only you and you alone… buddy… always… Only you would never give up on me. You really love me, right?”

John could swear that now Bruce was turning red under his bad mask. John wished he could see his cheeks. The shy Bruce was a sight to die for. Bruce would not just blush. He would look at everything else but not at John. He would stutter, blink sheepishly and his reaction to compliments would be deliciously childish.

Batman covered John’s eyes with a thick blindfold and tied it up, carefully smoothing the fabric to avoid the creases that may hurt. He asked just in case: 

“Is it tight?”

“Right on the money, buddy.”

“Hold me tight,” Batman warned him at the window.

John grabbed him as strongly as he could, feeling the bat’s heart beating loudly in the darkness. Listening to the rhythm of heartbeat, John forgot the fear of blindness. Batclaw jerked them out of the stuffy room into the cold night. Jumping from one roof to another, from one street to another, until they reached the batmobile.

The surface of batmobile was damp. John took off his glove and traced his fingers along, gathering the moisture drops. Night smelled of Batman, his suit and strong body. Police sirens were howling from afar. Closely, cats were fighting for a prey.

“Batman…” John called his friend, having lost him from the field of senses. “Ba~ats…”

John bit his lips.

“What are you doing? What are we waiting for? Bats? Ba~ats, where are you? Ba~atma~an!!!”

Horror-stricken, John opened his eyes. Clutching the toy to his chest, he stared at the wall for a long time, feeling his body and soul being absorbed into the unyielding emptiness. A little push, and he would suffocate.

“Bruce…” whispered John, tears falling down, body caught up in nervous fever.

He had never felt so rotten in his life. He hated Bruce for betraying his trust. For the first time in his life, John trusted somebody. But on the second thought, there was no way he could feel this nonexistent friendship with every cell of his body. So, there was friendship. No matter what, there was the best friendship and trust, John knew it for sure. Bruce got attached and believed in him. And he fucked everything up. He should have hated himself, not the silly, naive, too straight-forward for his own good Batman… Bruce, who was too cruel.

Restless, John was fidgeting from side to side on the narrow bed. His heart was savaged with desire. Desire to break free, rushed to Bruce… and kill him for the fuck sake or make Bruce take him away, or… rescue that damn stupid friend from everybody who used him and tried to manipulate him. Kill goddamned all of them, all those pitiful freeloaders and loudmouths.

John closed his eyes and imagined the blindfold on his eyes. He imagined Alfred telling him in a low apologetic voice that he would never be able to see again. His skin would feel Bruce’s warm hand, squeezing his palm, pulling him forward…

They would be passing by batmobile — John recognized its smell — and gasoline tanks, past some ordinary-looking table; its smooth glass surface would respond to the touch with slight vibration and tingling in his fingers. In the elevator, going up, and then across long corridors until they reach a room filled with the pleasant aroma of chicken and salad.

“Alfred prepared a meal for you…”

“May I eat later?”

“Of course.”

Bruce let go of his hand and John reached out after and grabbed his elbow. He did not want Bruce to go. Not now, when… 

“Bruce… I… I fucked up everything again. Sorry…”

Bruce was silent.

John gave a quiet sob and opened his eyes again. He had no idea what he wanted to hear from Bruce in response. It hurt too much. He felt sick and desperate, lonely and empty inside.

He wanted to take it easy. He did not want to think. He did not want to dream up things.

John wanted Bruce to be by his side, content just to be held by him and being told something encouraging.

John wanted Bruce to look at him with his amazing blue eyes. 

He remembered Bruce’s scent, pleasant and bitter, when they were fighting and Bruce pinned his hands down hard on the asphalt. How he stared with disturbing attention. As if he was going to strip all his clothes, piece by piece, and look into the very depth of his madness. John, who was burning with rage and hurt a moment ago, forgot how to breathe. John had never fallen for anyone in his life so hard like for Bruce. Even when he hated him or wanted to trample down on him or save him from himself no matter what. 

Bruce jumped and knocked him off his feet — palms rubbed off and bleeding after the fall. They both fought, beating each other like mad, both wanting to stop all this like mad. John brushed off his sweaty wet hair stuck to his forehead and stared with a searching look into the blue flame in the angry eyes of his opponent. Bruce kicked him with renewed force, misleading him with an undercut… tried to revive him, thinking John was gone for good… Memories thrashed about — like flecks of sunlight trapped in the mural mosaic in the church where everything started… Bruce’s breath was broken and felt so close, so hot and so… 

John put the doll on his face and pressed it tightly so as not to see the reality around him, and then slid his hand into his boxers. He touched his cock that turned hot at the memories, his fingers gently stroked the shaft and tickled the head. John was thrashed with excitement, thinking of his friend's strong body in a swear during the fight. The calm and quiet voice that turned John inside out was still in his head. Bruce had no idea that his voice had such an effect on John. His body was slowly covered with sweat, he wanted care and warmth. He began touching himself slowly, imagining how he was ...

...naked, with a black bondage over his eyes. John tried to turn on the shower, cursing as he could not find the right button. Bruce went into his shower room to help. Not only he adjusted the water the way John wanted, but also helped to shampoo the hair, rubbed his back, shoulders and chest, washed out the bleeding scratches received during the frantic pursuit of the criminal. When they rushed so fast as if chased by the dogs released by an invisible enemy. John shuddered in Bruce's arms, holding onto him not to fall. Bruce's shirt had been wet for a long time.

“Buddy, you’re so wet and… tense.” John said the obvious in a husky voice, unbuttoning Bruce’s shirt by feel and pulling it off. “If you’re not going to take control, my rackets won’t live to the launch… If you get what I mean.”

As if to confirm his words, John grabbed Bruce's hand and thrust it between his legs, getting even more excited by his own courage.

“Buddy… do you feel it?”

Instead of answering, Bruce pulled off his pants and climbed into the cramped shower cubicle. He pushed John against the wall. They stood together under the streams of water, trembling and excited.

“Buddy…” whispered John in a gasping voice. “My… Batman”.

“Stop talking.” Bruce held his back with one hand, and stroked two hardening erections with the other. And then... rhythmic movements made John forget about everything. He felt Bruce's cock with his own - two hot shafts in a strong, gentle hand.

“Bru-uce…”

John pressed his lips to his friend's collarbone and breathed hard, trying to move in time. Moaning. Feeling Bruce's heart pounding, his nails digging into John’s back, leaving bruises. Feeling Bruce flinch as John's hand reaches between them and touches his lower abdomen, caressing the velvet burning skin as Bruce drives them both crazy... John closed his eyes, pulling Bruce closer. Begging him to be rougher and more violent. Anticipating how he was about to come... Stopping his friend to prolong this hot crazy and shameful pleasure. And again, asking for more. Repeating without stopping: "I love you so much, buddy ...". Feeling the scar he left with his fingertips, gently caressing the skin around it like the most precious place on Bruce's body. The place of his pain and love. Their pain and love. 

A pleasant weight gathered in his groin. Gentle stroking touches were replaced with rough, jerky movements. Fingers brushed the head again and again. John was groaning so hard, helping himself with his pelvis while trying to catch the sharp pleasure that threw him out of his mind. He could feel Bruce's hand on his, the fantasy being so real that he almost whimpered with happiness. Fast, erratic movements along the entire length of the erection. while the other hand was crumpling the toy until his numb motionless fingers were hurt with crumps. Up and down, his back was bending and he was trying not to scream. John gritted his teeth and came, shuddering at the throbbing sensation and blushing at the realization of what he had just done. A splash of colors danced before his eyes. John dipped his fingers into the semen that had spilled over his stomach, and ran them down to the tightly clenched ring of muscles between the buttocks. The slippery finger pressed lightly, penetrated shallowly and played with the sensitive walls. John bit his lips, moaning with pleasure, a pulling, painful feeling, mixed with pleasure after orgasm. Weakness spread down his legs, his hand that hold the doll on his face trembled.

“I miss you so hard buddy…” whispered John between sobs. Words dimmed by his shaky breathing drowned in the silence of the ward.

If he had a choice to pay with his eyes for Bruce being in his life, John would blind himself without a second thought. If only he could hear that soft serious voice once again. If only he could hug this stupid idiotic multimillionaire, this foolish clueless Batman.

What could he do about familiar steps still could not be heard? 

What could he do about the damn bitter silence behind the door?

That Bruce could have… John’s heart clenched at the thought that his buddy could have died. Probably. What if the wound John gave him turned out to be lethal? What if the wound had got infected and now was gone from John’s life forever?

John cowered in his bed, hiding under the blanket, smearing it and the pillowcase with the milky liquid. He left some stains on the pillow and a small one on the arm of the toy Batman, right on the black fabric, oh so lucky. John whimpered like a wounded animal. Instead of the sky, there was a dark dirty ceiling above him, four walls instead of freedom. A dirty toy instead of his friend. 

He did not eat anything the next day. The day after next he went without food and made the keepers bothered. They tried to force-feed him but John threw a hysterical fit and nearly beat up a male nurse. He was tied up, put into a strait jacket and left without food for three more days, whether for the sake of punishment or treatment. John kept on asking if Bruce were alive but the doctors would brush him off like a troublesome fly.

Days dragged on, too long and monotonic, month after month. He was not allowed near the workshop anymore. He wanted to make a Batman doll in the long black cloak, but he was deprived of this joy as well.

John had no idea whether it was night or day. The only entertainment he had were the memories about his adventures with Batman, their bickering and rare heart-to-heart talks. And reveries where he indulged in fantasies about his friend. Keepers would roll their eyes, taking his bed sheets and crack dirty jokes about Harley. John did not care. They treat him as part of the furniture, and he did the same, he saw them not as humans but as grey spots. All the world around him had turned grey and hopeless. Color was only in his memory — his hot-pink make-up when he decided to become Batman’s best enemy. The despair was fiery and purple, mixed with the rush caused by thinking about Batman. And then, against his will, John’s hand would be in his boxers, driving him mad with feverish friction, driving him dizzy from caressing the head, making him see colorful butterflies hovering above him.

‘If only Bruce could peep at me…’ John fantasized. ‘I wonder if he would watch my every move, feeling ashamed at his curiosity.’

The door cracked open, when John was playing his favorite shower scene in his mind, a strip of fabric on his eyes, torn from the sheet. He quickly drew his hand out of his underwear and… had lost his tongue. He jerked up to sit up on the bed in utter disbelief. He probably fell asleep in the process or it was a hallucination after starving again and taking meds. Ugly and disgustingly hot tears ran down his cheeks, he choked… He rushed to the hallucination, not caring a damn that it might be a doctor and there might be nobody, and the door had been closed all this time. And the man in a black expensive suit had never come here in the first place.

“John?”

A hand carefully smoothed his messy green hair. John realized that he was neither dreaming nor hallucinating, nor he was going mad. 

“You’re alive … Bruce… You’re alive… I was so scared, I thought I killed you. I thought you wouldn’t come ever again. That you wouldn’t forgive me. And I would never forgive you”. John stopped crying and broke into gibber, his voice full of crazy emotions. “But I forgave you. I… me… buddy…”

He pulled away from Bruce, looking at him all over from head to toes. John’s eyes were glowing like two small coals in the fire that burnt out long ago and turned to ashes. Two sparkles on the white.

Bruce picked up the fallen toy and passed it to John.

“What have you done with it?” He smirked, touching the dry white spots. So many of them, staring in the face.

John was taken abash and quickly took the toy out of the very curious hands. He hid it behind his back and held out a strip of fabric in his other hand.

“What is it?” asked Bruce.

“Can you blindfold me?”

“What for, John?” Bruce let out a barely audible chuckle.

John’s face was full of determination and the mad joy.

“I’m still not sure that I can become someone like you even in the far future but… If you ever need me, just…” he stumbled. “Just… can I come with you? You may blindfold me so that I won't be able to see the way. And if anyone dares to hurt you… or leave you with at least one scar… I will blow them to hell.” His voice went a couple of octaves up and the next moment fell down to the hissing. “I will rip their spinal cord through their mouth! I… oh… no, it’s not like that, Bruce… sorry. You… you won’t leave me again, buddy, right? I missed you so much.”

“John… I’m so glad. As always, you talk strangely but I’m really glad to see you. I’m sorry… for everything. 

Brue smiled sheepishly, looking down.

“Why did it take you so long to come?” John asked with really no grudge attached. He was still hiding the toy behind his back. He could not fight the urge to tease Bruce. But he wanted an answer to his question as well. 

“John… I…” Bruce was taken aback.

He had no idea how to tell John that Alfred left him because Bruce chose Batman. That he hesitated whether it would be good to visit John at the hospital in order not to cause a greater damage. Everything that had happened to him was Batman’s fault completely: he miscalculated and used a mentally unstable guy who trusted him and had no idea how to deal with the world outside Arkham. Batman should have realized it on the day when he met John at the funerals. John believed in him too much and longed to be CLOSER too much. Needless to say, Bruch should not have pushed him too hard because everything clicked into place in Funhouse but Bruce failed to notice. John relied on his hero and trusted like a blind man would trust his guide-dog — and was deceived with such a cruelty. Circumstances being what they were, Batman failed to take into account too many things. 

“You don’t need to answer, Bruce.” John’s face was so close. Their lips were almost touching. But sparkles in John’s eyes faded and corners of his mouth drooped. “I made it dirty… But you don’t need to know how.” His voice was purring low and deep.

John removed his hand from behind. Bruce grabbed his wrist with the toy.

“I took a guess, buddy… But I don’t want to know what you were fantasizing about and why.”

“Bruce… what if I kiss you…”

“I will punch you.”

“No you won’t…”

“John.” Bruce cut him off with a scowl.

John moved aside a little. Bruce relaxed because John was dangerously close and it somehow caused his heart to beat slightly on edge.

All thoughts flied off his head when John took his head between his hands. Careful and timid, he pressed his lips a little lower than Bruce’s mouth and then pulled back, crying and hiding his face in the stained toy. Bruce had to hug his trembling friend, despite feeling embarrassed and awkward.

It was pleasant — to hold his green-haired buddy in his arms, feeling him relaxing and his breathing getting steadier. 

Bruce did not promise him anything.

Probably, it was hard for John to let his friend go without a promise to come back but he gathered all his courage and said nothing, did not even remind him about his request. 

Bruce pressed his back against the ward door that closed after he stepped out. He knew he could not leave John alone. He also would do everything to bring Alfred back. Batman had no other choice, right? He had to think of something.

John, who was stunned by Bruce leaving and the silence fallen afterwards, kept back his tears — afraid of fucking everything up again. He cursed at himself and Bruce for being awkward, angry and resenting the barriers between them. But in a moment, a smile bloomed on his face, shy at first bur then getting bolder — he smiled at the uncalled thought that his Bruce understood everything perfectly well and would definitely come back. Tomorrow, in a week or a month’s time. It would happen even if the world would go to hell, Arkham being the only place left on the planet. Batman… no, his friend… would come for him.


End file.
